Burn
by TheSapphireSky
Summary: With Moriarty's return, will Sherlock be able to save Molly? Or will Moriarty succeed in burning the detective's heart out?
1. Burn

**All mistakes are mine (of which there are probably quite a few). :)**

 **Post TAB; TRIGGER WARNING for life-threatening situation.**

There was a pounding in her head. Groaning, Molly forced her eyes open and grimaced in pain. She tried to lift her hand but was stopped by a sharp resistance.

'Wher'm I?' She grumbled and lifted her heavy head. She tried to make sense of the blurry figure crouching in front of her.

'Close your eyes,' a voice cooed. She shivered. She knew that voice. Didn't she? 'It's time for Sleeping Beauty to rest.'

She frowned and rolled her head to the side. 'Sh'lock...'

'Yes, my sweet. He'll be here soon.'

The darkness was pulling her back and the last thing she heard was the sound of a phone camera's shutter.

oOo

John ran as fast as he could, trying not to lose sight of Sherlock.

When Sherlock's phone had pinged, he had almost ignored it, too intent on his argument with John over the supposed return of Moriarty.

But he had checked it.

All the blood had drained from his best friend's face and absolute terror filled his eyes. Dropping the phone, Sherlock had turned and raced out the door. John snatched up the phone and his heart nearly stopped at the sight on the screen.

It was a text from Molly Hooper's phone, containing a photo of the small woman shackled to a chair in her kitchen, naked and unconscious. The message underneath was like being plunged into the icy depths of the Thames.

 _I did promise to burn the heart out of you._

Immediately shifting into Army Doctor mode, John was on Sherlock's heels. Molly's flat was only a half-mile away, but it felt like a marathon as they wove through the crowd.

'MOVE!' Sherlock bellowed. Immediately, the crowd of people on the pavement parted.

As they got closer, the sirens of the fire brigade sounded behind them. They flew past and turned left, an ambulance right behind. John's stomach twisted and he looked up. Not too far away, about where Molly's flat was, a black plume of smoke was filling the sky.

Sherlock skidded around the corner, John right behind, and shoved his way through the gathering crowd. A line of firefighters were unwinding the industrial hose and shouting commands over the noise of the fire and crowd. John's stomach turned over when he realised they didn't know there was anyone inside.

Sherlock jumped the barricade and raced toward the building.

A burly firefighter stepped in his way and held out a hand. 'Sir, you can't go in there. I need you to get back behind the barricade.'

Sherlock didn't even sneer at the man and tried to walk around him. John rushed up to them as the man grabbed Sherlock's arm.

'No, you don't understand,' Sherlock finally spoke, his voice dark and dangerous. 'I need to go inside. Now!'

'Sir, _get back behind the barricade!'_ The firefighter demanded.

Sherlock yanked his arm away and tried to run inside. Several other firefighters jumped in and they held him back.

Sherlock struggled against them. 'Let me go! I need to get to her, I need to save her! Molly! _Molly!'_

John jumped as a large boom sounded and a window exploded, glass raining down. Flames licked the inside of the window and were spreading fast.

'Molly!' Sherlock bellowed desperately. The muscles in his neck stood out grotesquely as he shouted and strained against the arms that held him back.

John watched in horrified shock as his best friend abandoned all his cold reason and was reduced to the very base of a man who feared for the life of the woman he loved. ( _There would be time to be surprised by that realisation later._ ) Right now, foolish and foolhardy as it was, John knew what he had to do; if Mary had been in that building... he couldn't even stomach the thought of it! So, mustering all his strength, he lunged and wrapped his arms around the neck of one of the largest men, pulling him off balance and bringing them both to the ground in a heap.

Sherlock broke free of his loosened restraints and shot like a bullet into the building, pulling his collar over his face.

Sprawled on the pavement, the furious firefighter spitting curses at him before rushing over to man the hose, John watched for any sign of Sherlock or Molly. His gaze darted from the door to the window of Molly's flat and back again, his heart hitting his ribs painfully with each beat.

Minutes ticked by, each second another drop of fear.

Suddenly, there was an ear-shattering explosion. The building shuddered and everyone held their breath. Any second now it would collapse. They had managed to prevent the spread of the fire to the neighboring flats, but Molly's flat and the ones above and below were going to cave.

And anything and anyone beneath it would be crushed.

Just when John was about to lose hope, a shadow shifted in the smoke-filled doorway. The shadow grew more distinguishable and finally manifested into the form of his best friend.

And he was carrying Molly Hooper in his arms, wrapped safely in his soot-covered Belstaff. He stumbled down the steps and managed to get a safe distance away before his legs collapsed underneath him and he fell to his knees.

Behind him, the fire finally overtook the building and, with a deafening crash, the roof collapsed, falling in on itself. Firefighters and medics rushed forward and swarmed around Sherlock, cheers from the crowd watching adding to the cacophony of noise.

John ran over just as the medics were placing oxygen masks over Molly's and Sherlock's faces. Both were sporting mild burns and were covered in soot. Sherlock was hacking desperately, trying to expel the smoke from his lungs. But Molly was still unconscious.

The paramedics hurried to place her on the gurney and wheel her away. John was pushed back as Sherlock tore the mask off his face and struggled to his feet, shoving aside the paramedic trying to examine his burns.

'Sherlock, you need to sit down and let them look over you.' John tried to get his attention, but the detective waved him off. Rolling his eyes with a sigh, John slipped his arm around the taller man's waist and helped him stumble over to the ambulance.

The medics were loading Molly into the back and calling instructions and directions back and forth. Sherlock clambered in after her, ignoring their protests, and sat by her side, grasping her hand tightly.

'Sir, you can't be in here unless you're family,' one of the paramedics snapped.

Sherlock turned a dark glare on the man. 'She _is_ family.'

Annoyed, but unwilling to waste time arguing, the paramedic sighed and let him be. They secured Molly inside and the driver jumped out the back and slammed the doors closed. Through the window, John could see Sherlock leaning down toward Molly's face. And just before the ambulance drove off, siren's blaring, Molly's head rolled toward him and a tender, relieved smile broke across Sherlock's face.

With shaking hands, John pulled his phone out of his pocket.

'Mary? It's me... I need you to meet me at the A&E at Princess Grace.,. No, everything's not all right, but I think it will be soon... I-I'll explain when you get there. I just needed to hear your voice.' He closed his eyes against the burn of tears. 'And tell you how much I love you. I love you so much...'


	2. The Aftermath

**A follow-up to Burn. For miabicicletta, who gave me the first two lines and set this sequel into motion. Thank you! I hope you like it.**

* * *

' _No such thing as heroes_ , he said.'

'Shut up, John.'

John's smirk dropped when Sherlock spun around with a scowl and pushed past his friend, straight-arming his way out the door.

'Anything else, Dr Watson?' The pathologist asked.

John smiled at the man and shook his head. 'No. No, we're good.' He gave the body one last glance, memorizing the image of the permanently dead Moriarty laying on the cold slab. A vicious gratitude rushed over him that this particular demon would not be rising from the dead ever again.

He walked toward the door, but paused when a thought occurred to him. Turning his head, he asked, 'Actually, just one thing. What was the official cause of death?'

The pathologist blinked and glanced at the body. 'Self-inflicted gunshot wound.' He frowned. 'Dr Watson, I don't mean to pry, but weren't you th-'

'Right, of course. Self-inflicted,' John cut the man off and backed out of the door. 'Good day, Dr Kuchick. And thank you.'

The doors fell shut on the pathologist's confused frown. John turned around and strode down the hallway, a knowing smile spreading across his face.

oOo

It wasn't difficult to locate Sherlock after his abrupt departure from the morgue. John stepped out of the elevator and onto the 7th floor of the burn ward. Winding his way through the now-familiar halls, John slowed at the sight of his friend standing outside room 733 and staring at the door as if it had personally offended him.

'Sherlock?' John drew up to his side.

'I don't know how to handle this.'

John looked at the door, behind which lay one of his dearest friends. 'Is this about-'

'She almost died. She will have physical and mental scars from this, a constant reminder that associating with me puts her life at risk.' Sherlock blinked and a look of confusion crossed his face. 'Logically, this should put me off any relationship of any kind with her, even professionally.'

When he didn't continue on, John prompted, 'But?'

Sherlock sighed. 'I have always felt a level of protectiveness for my friends; for you, Mary, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade. Even Mycroft, when he's not being annoying. And Molly, of course. But when I realised she was in that building, when I saw her tied to the chair while the fire closed in on her, on me, it is as if something was borne inside of me, a level of protectiveness and desperation I'd never reached before. Of course, my mind was still racing with calculations of smoke inhalation, weakening floors and beams, the decreasing likelihood of both of us escaping. But for the first time, I could ignore it. I could focus on one thing: _her_. And everything else fell into place to reach the sole purpose of saving her.'

John knew exactly what Sherlock was struggling with and smiled in understanding.

'I should leave, let her live a safe, normal life.' Sherlock scowled, then admitted, 'And yet I want to go in there, be with her, protect her. And destroy anyone who tries to hurt her.'

'Yeah,' John chuckled and slapped his friend on the back. Sherlock turned to look at him and he took a deep breath, saying with a wry grin, 'That's love, mate.'

Sherlock blinked. He turned to the door and his lips parted in surprise. He looked back at John.

'That's exactly how I feel about Mary, and how I know she feels about me. The only person either of us would ever choose to protect over the other is Rosamund. Not even you, I'm afraid,' he smiled wryly.

Sherlock frowned in thought and resumed his staring at the door. 'I...I seem to be of a similar mind.'

John nodded. 'What are you going to do about it then?'

He didn't wait for Sherlock's answer. He raised his eyebrows knowingly and stepped around the detective, knocking on the door as he opened it.

'How's the patient?' He greeted genially. From her place by Molly's bedside, Mary rose and greeted him with a kiss.

Molly smiled. 'Better every day.'

John returned her smile and plucked the chart from her bed. The burns on her hands and arms were healing and she was still suffering the after-effects of smoke damage to her lungs. Her hair had suffered quite a bit from the fire, to her dismay, and they had needed to chop off the singed locks up to her shoulders. But the sparkle was returning to her eyes and the doctors were optimistic about her being released in another day or two.

'What have you two been up to these past couple days?' Mary asked lightly, but John heard the underlying question in the way her nails dug into his arm.

 _Is he gone for good?_

'Putting to rest any immediate danger to my pathologist,' Sherlock declared. He walked deeper into the room and caught Mary's eye, giving her a single nod. She relaxed slightly, but her grip on John's arm was still worryingly tight.

'Molly,' Sherlock greeted her with a brief smile, standing at the foot of her bed with his hands clasped behind his back.

Self-consciously, Molly tucked her hair behind her ear, grimacing a bit at the stretch of the burn on her bandaged arm. 'Hi, Sherlock.'

John looked between the two and slid his hand into Mary's. 'I could do with a sandwich. How about you, love? Come with me to the canteen?'

Mary followed his eyes and smiled. 'Only if you're buying.' She leaned over and kissed Molly's forehead. 'I'll be back this afternoon with Rosie, okay?'

'Sounds lovely,' Molly agreed. 'I'll see you then. Bye, John!'

'Bye, Molly. Sherlock.' John gave his tall friend one last knowing look before pulling Mary out into the hall.

They hadn't gone more than three steps, before Mary pulled him to a stop.

John turned with a frown and his heart dropped at her pale face.

Her voice shook as she spoke. 'He's gone? Properly dead this time? Please tell me, I need to know.'

John immediately gathered her into his arms and held on tight. He didn't know what she'd done before she became Mary Morstan, but he knew Moriarty played a part. And to see the terror in her eyes, to see the fear that monster instilled in his strong, brave, extraordinary wife, shook him to his core. 'Yes, he's gone. Properly and permanently.' She relaxed into him and sniffled into his shoulder. That fierce protectiveness rose like a wave inside him. 'Sod the sandwich, I'll sneak you in to see his body and you can put as many rounds into it as you like. Sherlock put in the one that counted, obviously. But a few more wouldn't hurt, just in case.'

She laughed and pulled back to wipe away the tears that had fallen. 'Oh, God. Yes, please!'

'You have your silencer on you, right?'

'Of course!'

Smiling fondly, John tucked her into his side and lead her toward the lift. 'That's my girl.'

As the doors shut and the lift shuddered, he closed his eyes and breathed in deep. It was scary, downright terrifying at times, to live in the knowledge that someone from their pasts could put an end to all of this in a moment. But for right now, they were safe. And he would do everything in his power to keep her and their daughter safe from whatever storm was approaching.

Mary's arms wound around his waist and he held her tight as the numbers flashed steadily downward.

He only hoped it would be enough.


End file.
